


let go (because it never started)

by gaily-daily (passionateartist)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: ABO dynamics, Alpha Jim, I just never posted it because I don't actually ship gobblepot, M/M, Omega Oswald, Set in Season 1, because I wrote this during season 1, but I really like how it turned out, gobblepot, this was just a way to challenge myself as a writer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 09:57:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17702183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionateartist/pseuds/gaily-daily
Summary: Oswald had been pushed around by alphas all his life. So when it is spared by one, a cop no less, he knows he’s found a keeper.





	let go (because it never started)

**Author's Note:**

> please know that some parts may seem a bit choppy and unfinished. This is because this is a hastily cleaned rough draft.

Oswald had been pushed around by alphas all his life. So when it is spared by one, a cop no less, he knows he’s found a keeper. 

Loyalty. That’s what it all came down to in this city. He could scoff at the thought. A man’s loyalty could be bought, bribed, seduced, or threatened with. So, in truth, loyalty was actually nonexistent. What existed was allegiances. Allies were not friends, and underlings were always suspect to suspension. Oswald was foreign to the concept of loyalty. He lived solely for himself. And his mother of course. But when it came down to it, it was all about looking out for number one. As far as he was concerned, Mooney, Maroni, and Falcone could all go fuck themselves. He’d snitch for them and on them. He’d steal and cheat and lie and beg, but he was never once loyal to any of them. 

He was constantly trying to claw his way up the ladder; desperately reaching for the next rung. Victory was a taste he’d never get tired of. Giving orders and directing his own crew was an indescribable euphoria. 

People like Butch were content with where they were. Being a right hand man was better than being an umbrella boy, but to Oswald it might as well have been the same thing. No matter what position you held, if you weren’t at the top that meant you were at the bottom. Oswald didn’t want to be someone’s right hand man. He didn’t want to be under someone’s thumb or foot. He wanted _be_ someone. He wanted to run the show. He wanted to control the money flow. He wanted to give the orders. Oswald Cobblepot wanted to be the one who was on top. He craved it with every fiber of his being. 

And yet his vision came with quite an unexpected addition. People may think having an honest cop for a friend and confident is an incredibly ill-witted move, but Oswald was smarter than most of the masses (or so he’d like to think). You see, any underling, partner, or ally can stab you in the back. Trust can be breached and broken in the blink of an eye. But an honest man, an honest cop, will stab you in the front. If Jim Gordon ever decided to take the Penguin down he would tell him face to face first. 

And that was why Oswald had sworn his loyalty to him. It wasn’t the loyalty between a boss and his subordinate, where one would follow orders blindly. It wasn’t even the loyalty between business partners where they had to talk and agree on everything together before making a move. But it was the loyalty between friends. Friends told each other secrets. Friends didn’t hurt one another. Friends didn’t go behind each other’s backs. 

Jim Gordon was his first and only true friend. Not at all like his ‘friends’ in junior high through high school where they made him carry their books and do their homework assignments. Jim didn’t make him do things for him. In fact he hardly asked him for favors at all. He was always reluctant to say anything whenever he needed something. But Oswald would coax him into feeling comfortable soon enough. He was only too overjoyed whenever Jim came to him with something only he could help him with. It always made him feel important to him. That, without him, Jim would be lost. It was a nice feeling. To be needed. For once in his life someone needed him.

It wasn’t easy, by all means. Jim fought their friendship at every turn. He refused to accept it. But Jim needed to understand that all good cops needed informants. And he would be that for Jim and more. Oswald would show him that he needed him. That he was willing to help and that Jim needn’t feel ashamed in asking for it. For what were friends for if they didn’t help each other out? 

It was almost adorable the way Jim would worry about whether the information Oswald got him every once in a while was either extracted painfully or politely discussed in a conversation. He really was a boy scout at heart. But Oswald wouldn’t have it any other way. He wouldn’t have Jim any other way. In the end Jim wouldn’t have the stomach to ask and Oswald didn’t have the heart to tell. He could tell that the detective didn’t like having a criminal like him as an associate. And yes, he wasn’t blind to the fact that Jim didn’t consider them friends. But luckily for him Oswald knew how his mind worked. He knew Jim didn’t want to admit to befriending a criminal because that would put a damper on his squeaky clean conscience. Honest men like him didn’t associate with sniveling criminals of the underworld. Having contacts in the underworld was one thing, befriending them was another. Befriending meant turning the other way when something unlawful was inevitably committed. It meant overlooking certain things that aren’t meant to be overlooked. He understood. Really. Jim was a hard man. A good man. A man he was proud to know and have in his life.

Jim would come around to the idea of being friends eventually. And Oswald would be here waiting when he did.

-

Cobblepot bruised incredibly easily, Jim noted. Every time he saw the man it seemed he was sporting a new tell-tale sign of abuse. Jim knew the shenanigans people like Cobblepot got up to. And he didn’t particularly like it, but he knew the man wouldn’t stop. Excluding himself, Cobblepot was the most stubborn person he knew. It was a little jarring to admit, but they were alike in that aspect. No matter how many times they were pushed down by society and peers, they always fought to get back up. It was admirable, he supposed, if one thought of it in that way. But at least Jim had training and could take a punch as well as he could give one. But Cobblepot was practically defenseless in that aspect. He was weak, gangly, and had a limp. One off-hand threat could have the man on his knees begging for mercy. 

He supposed it must have been pity; what he was feeling. It was a foreign feeling to have towards criminals, and Jim was eternally confused as to how it even surfaced in the first place. He didn’t like looking at Cobblepot’s face and taking in the bluish tint around his eyes and chin. He didn’t like how disgruntled it made him feel. He didn’t like feeling like he should do something about it. Like what? Cobblepot deliberately did this to himself. He got himself into these situations on his own. He never learned no matter how many times he was beaten back into submission.

And yet.

A weird sensation of wanting to maybe protect the smaller man (omega, his mind supplied, but Jim couldn’t think of such a persistent and hard-headed man such as this was destined to be on the bottom rung of society) often arose within him. It was a little worrying. He had no interest in Cobblepot in that way. But to offer protection to an omega, to tell other alphas to back off, meant to claim them. And Jim had no intention of claiming him. 

And yet still.

The odd sensation of wanting to protect him didn’t go away. Perhaps he could offer combat lessons to the man? Teach him to at least defend if nothing else. But then again it probably wouldn’t do any good. Cobblepot was an omega in every sense of the word. He was small, submissive, and weak. He cowered before other alphas and accepted punishment as it came.

But there was an underlying fierceness to him; a quality that most omegas did not usually possess. It was this that made Jim look twice. Cobblepot was not satisfied in his destined role in society to serve and submit. He wanted power. He craved acknowledgement. Jim knew that look well. He’d seen many alphas with that look in their eyes. But to see it in an omega was something else entirely.

He didn’t want to admit it, and he probably never would, but he was curious to see where the man would end up. He was curious to know if he would succeed and how. And, even more curious, was the fact that he wondered more often than not if Cobblepot would still want him by his side. A good cop was bad for business. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that the man would one day realize that.

But it was all in speculation of course. Cobblepot was still just an underdog. A nobody. For the moment at least. And he still lit up with nervous joy every time Jim entered the room. So he could still hold on to that at least for now.

-

Jim tries not to take too many observations on the man, but it gets harder every day not to catalogue everything. 

It's painfully obvious the way Oswald flinches away from contact that he's never known a loving touch or friendly hug. On the rare occasion that Jim would reach out to him, perhaps a unexpected clamp on the shoulder, Oswald would be startled for a second before realizing it was Jim and relax. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Jim knew the only person to initiate contact with him was his mother. She was eccentric, but kind and gentle. 

Jim knew he could be rough when need be. And at the beginning of their acquaintanceship he had on more than one occasion thrown the smaller man around. He wasn’t afraid to back up his threats with a good shove or two. And it’s not like he had been unjustified in his rough-housing. Oswald was an infuriating person, so it was understandable he’d been annoyed with him quite often in the beginning. Even now the man ticked him off more than usual.

But he did regret using force. He didn’t want to be like that. He didn’t want to be shoved into the category of the typical alpha male throwing his weight around just because he could. He didn’t want Oswald to see him like that. He wanted Oswald to trust that he wouldn’t hurt him. 

Then he wonders why he would want a criminal to trust him at all. On these days he throws himself into his paperwork and tries to deliberately think of nothing.

So maybe the off-hand touches did increase a tad bit here and there. And maybe Oswald did relax into him a bit more. But Jim didn’t particularly want to delve into the deeper meanings of why he felt the need to touch him in the first place. He wasn’t a man that enjoyed introspection all that much, he was content with the way things were.

-

Harvey would admit, it was a little weird walking into that club again and feeling like he’d walked into an alternate dimension. Harvey had known Fish for a long time. And he’d been coming to her place for years. To see it like this—no red, no lamps, no _Fish_ —threw him for a loop. 

Harvey had dragged Jim here whenever they needed information. But now the tables had turned and it was like he’d stepped into some mirror verse. Now Jim was the one taking the lead and walking with purpose over to where Cobblepot sat. He wondered if this was how Jim had felt whenever they’d gone to the club. Standing off to the side and feeling oddly out of place while his partner chatted good-naturedly with a known criminal across the room. 

He was only too glad to leave whenever Jim got the information they needed. That place held too many memories. And he didn’t like coming back to a place he’d once been fond of and not being able to recognize a single thing.

So it is even harder when he has to go back alone.

Jim's been kidnapped. At least that's the assumption. He's been MIA for two days and in Gotham city people usually started looking in the bottom of the river after 24 hours.

He demands to see the Penguin as soon as he steps foot inside. The man in question looks at him with borderline indifference. As if he could care less what he wanted. 

“Jim’s in trouble...” He starts off. 

He was sure nothing could get Cobblepot going quicker than the fact that Jim had gone missing. Everyone knew that Cobblepot considered Jim a friend. It was unknown if the sentient was returned however. Even unto Harvey as he hadn’t quite figured that one out yet.

But Cobblepot just sits there completely uninterested. Harvey almost explodes into rage. Wasn’t he always proclaiming to Jim that he was the only one he could trust? The only one he could rely on? And of course Harvey always had to refrain from punching him in the face because he valued Jim’s friendship just as much if not more than that snake of a man.

Cobblepot smiles that smug, stupid grin of his when he thinks he’s won something. “Don’t you think I already know that? Of course I know. I already have people looking for him.”

And that, Harvey admitted, was something he did _not_ expect. Sure he claimed to be friends with him, but when it came down to it, criminals didn’t stick their necks out for policeman unless it benefited them. They didn’t give favors without getting favors and they didn’t offer information without a price. Harvey had been friends with Fish for years and yet at the first sign of trouble she wouldn’t hesitate to off him if it benefitted her. She’d proven that time and again. He didn’t hold it against her. Because when it came down to it Fish had to look out for number one. Just like Harvey had to look out for number one. Harvey didn’t want that for Jim. He was a good cop. If he was ever forced into doing  
dirty work for Cobblepot it would break him. He couldn’t just stand by and say nothing.

And yet Cobblepot constantly went out of his way to help Jim and asked for nothing in return. Harvey was starting to think he’d misjudged their whole relationship. He had thought it was something similar to what he had with Fish, but it was clear that the level of affection outweighed self-preservation. Fish had never dared outright oppose one of the Families for someone else’s sake without getting something monumental in return. And yet here Cobblepot was, doing just that and all because he merely wanted Jim Gordon safe and sound. 

He wasn’t sure if he understood their dynamic, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to, but he supposed that it was nice for once to receive help that was actually sincere in its gesture.

He tips his hat to the man and takes his leave. At least he didn’t have to worry about Jim anymore.

-

_‘Your greatest passion becomes your greatest weakness.’_

They were words Oswald lived by. Words he knew well. He was always slithering in, learning secrets and taking names. He kept tabs on everyone: Fish, Maroni, Falcone, and yes, even Jim Gordon. Find out what a man loves and it will be his downfall.

He’d never felt guilty for using someone’s weakness against them before. But whenever he put on his best pleading face, and opened his heart for Jim to take pity on as he inevitable would, he could not help the pang in his chest. Jim was a bleeding heart. It was plain to see that the cop could not bear to turn his back on someone who was truly in need. It was that heart of gold that attracted Oswald so much. It felt wrong to exploit it. It sat ill in his stomach to manipulate someone he considered a friend. 

Jim Gordon loved justice and winning. He loved the thrill of the fight and protecting the innocents. Oswald Cobblepot was no innocent. And yet still Jim had yet to truly turn him away. He didn’t deserve the man’s help. He didn’t deserve his friendship. And yet there it was. 

Sometimes he was disgusted with himself. But that was only sometimes, and Oswald was a very busy man. He couldn’t afford to get caught up in guilt and regret when he a very specific goal in mind. He would claw his way up until he stood on top no matter who he stepped on. And if he had to withhold a thing or two from Jim then so be it.

Oswald had never been a ‘desirable’ omega by society’s standards. By anyone’s standards really. He cowered and groveled and begged like a good little submissive. But when it came down to it that was all he was good for. He was a liar and a sneak. He neither cooked nor cleaned. He wasn’t caring or nurturing the way most omegas were. He didn’t care about others feelings or graciously offer his help to those in need.

He was an outcast. Even fellow omegas didn’t like him. So it was no wonder that Jim had did not want him. Jim was the first alpha, the first the person, he’d reached out to. Do of course it hurt to know his affection wasn't returned. But he couldn’t blame the man. Oswald was wasn’t lean or lithe, he was  
gangly and slimy. 

“Oswald, dear, tell what’s the matter?”

He jumped out of his train of thought. 

“Nothing, mother. All is well.”

“Alpha trouble again? My poor baby is getting his heart broken too often.”

His mother was too naïve. She was the only person in his life who thought he was worth something. But he knew, and the rest of the masses knew, that he wasn’t worth much. At least not yet. He had plans. Oh he had big plans. 

But that still wouldn’t make Jim look his way. He was a criminal and always would be. How could golden boy Jim Gordon ever accept someone like that? The most he could do was offer his services and give him favors and information. But that wasn’t enough to catch his eye.

What then? He needed to show him he was good enough. That they could be good together. Oswald may not be able to cook or clean or fulfill a motherly role, but he could care for him. He could look out for him. He just needed some time. 

“Your hair is getting so long, dear. You should cut it.”

And then an idea forms. It grows in the back of his mind until a slow, wide grin stretches across his face. 

“Yes, mother. I think I will.”

-

The next time Jim Gordon sees Oswald he’s knee deep in files and grumbling at his desk. 

“What the hell is he doing?” Harvey says from across him, looking at the entrance.

He doesn’t pay it any mind; at least, not until he can feel someone hovering over him. He looks up and then promptly does a double take.

Oswald Cobblepot smiles sincerely down at him. Not a toothy, smug grin, but his softer, kinder smile reserved for friends. Namely him. He’s wearing a purple polo underneath a black jacket. His jeans are loose and dark. His hair is short and styled, no grease in sight. He’s practically unrecognizable.

“Hello, James.” Oswald greets him pleasantly. 

“Oswald.” He blinks, still unable to process what is happening.

His pheromones are starting to go into overdrive, confusing the hell out of Jim, because this was _Oswald Cobblepot_ and he should not be thinking about him like that! He’s never found that man that attractive and yet a simple change of clothes and haircut had him searching for his next breath. 

What the hell was happening?

“I was wondering if—“

“Detective Gordon!” 

Oswald’s face falls into one of deep annoyance at the appearance of Nygma. The man looks between the two of them. 

“Why hello Mr. Cobblepot. What brings you to the station?”

Oswald looks like he wants to break something. Probably Nygma’s face. Jim felt oddly torn. The sudden urge to make Nygma leave simply because he was making Oswald uncomfortable was rising at an alarming rate. But another deep and confusing urge found Oswald’s annoyance strangely funny and interesting. Jim wondered how far this particular urge went. Was it just because it was satisfying to see Oswald uncomfortable or because, at the same time, he didn’t want Oswald in the station with all these prying eyes to begin with? And just why did he not want prying eyes staring at Oswald in the first place?

“Business.” Oswald says in a clipped tone. 

“Your outfit choice is most interesting.” Nygma states in an elated tone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but a suit. To what is the occasion? A date perhaps?”

Nygma is grinning like he knows something. If Jim doesn’t intervene soon someone will probably end up on the floor. 

“Alright leave him alone.” Jim sighs, standing up and willing for his knees to stop shaking.

“Jim, may I have a moment of your time to speak with you in private?” Oswald asks.

He looks so earnest Jim can’t even entertain the thought of saying no. That in itself throws him for a loop. He’s said no to Oswald plenty of times before. 

And yet something was different this time. His puppy eyes, which had never worked before, were suddenly starting to pull him in. It was almost frightening the way Jim felt compelled to listen to his request. He’s not sure what caused the change. But he only hoped that it was a fluke. 

He almost misses Oswald's request.

Jim blinks. “Pardon?”

“My mother's making lunch tomorrow and she mentioned wanting to meet you.” Oswald says again.  
All at once it hits Jim what's happening here. The styled hair, the nice clothes--and now he wants Jim to meet his mother.

It takes several tries. He coughs once or twice, straightens his tie, and swallows. And yet the words still come out rough and dry.

“Sorry no, I'll be busy with police work.”

He excuses himself quickly. But he can feel Oswald’s disappointment seeping into his back all the same.

-

The first time it happens it’s an accident. Jim is being his usual stubborn self. Oswald thinks he’s being very generous in his offer but Jim is having none of it. So, like the gentleman he is, instead of sitting there and arguing over the details of their exchange of information, Oswald gets up to walk away. But just as he turns and takes his first step, his back to Jim, he hears him call out.

“Come on Ozzy, don’t be like that.”

To his credit, he looked just as surprised as Oswald felt, if not more so. Oswald stands there awkwardly, trying to process the words that had just came out of his friend’s mouth. Jim quickly recovers and schools his expression to one of familiar stern detachment. Oswald hates that look.

“Sorry.” Jim clears his throat. Trying to establish a sense of professionalism again.

But Oswald will be damned if he lets this go. He’s not giving Jim an inch to save his life.

“No, it’s quite alright.” 

He can feel the grin spread across his face, and he knows he comes across as creepy sometimes. But he can’t help it. He feels elated. Like he’s flying up on cloud nine as all he wants to do is make Jim call out that name again.

“No one’s ever called me that before.” he says, taking his seat next to Jim once more. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to use it.”

Jim looks uncomfortable. But that was the standard reaction Jim had to anything Oswald-related. He was always surprised and a little weirded out by his growing closeness with the gangster. 

Patience. Oswald seemed to be endlessly waiting for Jim to catch up to his level of thinking. Whether it was establishing a relationship as cop and informant, or sitting next to each other like old friends at the bar, Jim always needed to be coaxed into these things. The man was painfully straight. Oswald understood he needed to deal with every little thing as gently as possible so as not to scare the alpha away. 

“It slipped out.” Jim says, his words are hardened and short. “I’m not sure if I’d feel alright using it.”

“What are nicknames between friends?” Oswald smiles at him.

Gently. He must press him gently.

“Perhaps.”

Jim gives him a short nod of acknowledgement. He’ll think about it. And Oswald knows he’s got him. 

_Only my friends call me Fish._

Mooney had been adamant about that fact. Oswald had never did understood why. He’d never had a nickname. Let alone any friends to call him by such. There was ‘Penguin’ of course but that was an insult more than anything else. He hated that name. 

But ‘Ozzy’ was kind and not intended to insult at all. It was an actual, honest to goodness shortening of his name that symbolized the sentiment between friends. He couldn’t wait to hear the it toll off of Jim’s lips again.

-

The second time was awkward and forced. But it was cute in a way. 

They had been seated at the usual table and Oswald had greeted him warmly. Jim nodded politely back at him. But when Oswald inquired of his health Jim stared at him for a full 10 uncomfortable seconds before coming seeming to a decision in his mind.

“I’ve been fine...Ozzy.”

He couldn’t even begin to describe the utter euphoria that spread through his being that day. It was akin to the feeling he got whenever he’d pulled off a plan perfectly. It was truly a magical experience. Jim was a little put off by how brightly Oswald had responded, he could tell, but he smiled kindly back at him nonetheless and didn’t stop using the nickname.

From then on it had flowed more easily off of Jim’s tongue. Oswald was more excited than usual every time Jim came by the club. He loved it when Jim greeted him with a short nod and a gruff “Hello, Ozzy.”  
He’d never understood the phrase “so happy I could die.” But he had a feeling he could start to understand where it had come from.

-

He'd become careless. To secure in his position and power. Oswald could sit here all day and think about what went wrong, but that wouldn't help him get out of this situation. 

He tries to look around the warehouse. Looking for anything, anything that could help him. That finds nothing. Only the three men who had captured him. They eye him with satisfied grins and twitching fingers. Oswald knows what comes next. Being an Undesirable, he never had to worry about it too much. But Oswald has made many enemies since childhood. And this is more about revenge than satisfying any primal urge these men may feel.

No one was going to spare his life. No one was going to listen to his pleas. No one could be bribed. Not these particular men. These hitman would kill him in about 5 seconds and there was nothing he could do.

Without a second thought, Oswald throws his head back and Cries.

Oswald been in many, many situations in which there seemed to be no way out and still managed to escape by the skin of his teeth. And he did it without resorting to using his status as an omega. Using his Cry was admitting he was weak and needed someone else to come save him. 

An Omegan Cry, for all intents and purposes, was a desperate plea for help. It was something that every boy and girl learned about in school. It had a different effect on everyone. For fellow omegans, bonded or no, they would feel an impulse to reach out in compassion and support. For betas it was similar. A sharp pull would tug them towards the scene to save the poor creature from harm. And any bonded alphas within hearing distance would feel a very deep compulsion to protect and shield the omega in danger. These compulsions for each class were strong, but they could be ignored just as any other normal compulsion could.

But for unbonded betas and alphas, that there was the tricky part started. The part Oswald hated. In school they had been warned against using the Cry only as a last resort. They had heard stories of accidental bonds formed from the effect the Cry had. For it was that if any unbonded alphas or betas heard the cry of an unbonded omega, they would be unable to resist rushing to the scene. It would not be a simple compulsion or urge. It would be a deep-seated _need_ that overtook their bodies and even their minds. The Omegan Cry was essentially a plea for help, but it was also, to some extent, to attract a mate. 

Oswald knew that. He knew what could potentially happen, but he was doomed anyway. And besides, it was all by choice in theory. Some were able to resist more than others and others still were slaves to their compulsions. Even if an unbonded alpha heard him and came to save him, it didn’t particularly mean they would actually mate. No one had ever wanted him before. What would some Cry change what nature had already told him? If anything, Oswald figured he was safe in that regard. He was undesirable. At least it would be better than a bullet through his brain.

The guns that had previously been pointed at him lowered. The three of them stared with wide eyes. One man looked torn between running either toward or away from him.

“GCPD!” a voice called in the distance.

“Shit!”

Gunfire erupts and Oswald hits the ground and starts to crawl away. 

He looks up briefly to see Jim Gordon literally barreling into one of the men. He punches and kicks and snarls viciously. Oswald has never seen Jim so angry before. So desperate.

The fight is over in seconds. The men scattered over the floor. Two are unconscious. One is whimpering in pain.

He doesn't think. He doesn't even remember moving. Or maybe it was Jim that had moved. Maybe neither of them had and the universe had simply folded in on itself to erase the space between them.  
Jim had never known this kind of love before. And he didn’t doubt for a moment that Oswald’s infatuation with him was anything less than love. All of a sudden it was coming together so clearly that he couldn’t believe he’d never seen it before. 

Barbara had been spicy and hot. She’d loved him fully and deeply. He’d felt alive with her. Leslie had been gentle and kind. But also strong and poised. 

Kissing them was nothing compared to Oswald. Each kiss was desperate and pleading. Oswald’s whole body sung to him. 

_Love me._ His tongue silently asked.

 _Hold me._ His body heat wrapped around Jim, reaching out and calling out to his alpha.

 _Touch me._ His trembling hands came up as if to cup Jim's face but dared not touch.

Harvey had told Jim at one point that he needed someone who could keep up with him. Someone who didn’t constantly worry over his job and whether or not he’d be coming home in one piece. He needed someone who could share half the load.

Oswald was not afraid to go behind Falcone’s back if Jim asked. He practically jumped at any chance to help him, personal or otherwise. Something Jim had let slip from his notice. How had that happened? How did this man escape his notice even though he was constantly searching for his approval and praise?

Oswald kissed him as if he’d never see him again. He probably believed so too. He shook against him, desperately frightened to lose him, and desperately needing to touch him. 

He stood there, silently, letting Oswald take what he needed. And after what felt like eternity and nothing at all, the smaller man finally stepped away. Jim doesn’t look at him. He can’t.

He knows what he wants to say. Knows what he needs to say. 

“This can’t...” he swallows. He can still taste him on his lips. His scent was still surrounding them. “You aren’t...”

This man was dangerous. A criminal. He could never be with someone like that. He’d regret it someday. He knew he would. Because the truth of the matter was that he was a good man, and Oswald was not.  
He’s staring past him, not even looking at his face, but he can still see it crumble. Still see the sadness welling up in his eyes and the growing self-hatred for knowing that this had been the only end result and going for it anyway. Oswald had known he’d reject him. And somehow that made it worse.

Everything inside Jim is screaming at him to stay. Every part of his skin that isn't currently touching Oswald is in utter agony. 

“I’m sorry.” He says.

Jim Gordon had never run away from anything. But he can’t bring himself to stay there, in that place, with a crumpling, dejected man. Jim wasn’t bonded, had never been, but he’d been in long lasting relationships and those kind of things tended to involve a claim or mark. They weren’t as powerful as bonding. Marking someone generally faded away with time.

It's only after he's climbed inside his car and misses the ignition twice with his keys, he looks up at the rearview mirror to notice the blood on his lip. He'd bit him. It had been quick. Just a nip. But Jim knows without knowing, it'd left a mark.

He could still taste Oswald on his tongue. The scent was pure and completely untouched. He’d never known the touch of another. One night stands, maybe, but not relationship wise. No one had ever even marked or claimed Oswald Cobblepot. No one had ever wanted him before.

He recalls the gentle devotion in which Oswald held his hands up to his cheeks, but never brushing the skin there. Asking for permission but receiving none.

_Fuck._

The sudden urge to punch something is overwhelming. He was terrified. Scared out of his mind. But the most terrifying thing about all of it was that he’d wanted to. He'd wanted to give him permission. 

He puts the car into gear and drives away.

**Author's Note:**

> this is it. Sorry I never wrote more because, again, I don't ship this and I didn't have inspiration for anything more. But I like to think in this universe Ozzy wore Jim out eventually ;)


End file.
